


I want to be stung by the stars

by Lizzen



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Consent Issues, Light Dom/sub, M/M, a lot of my alexander pierce feels, sub panic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-12
Updated: 2014-08-12
Packaged: 2018-02-12 19:27:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2121867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lizzen/pseuds/Lizzen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>You crave subjugation</i>, Bucky thinks, and follows orders. It's what he's good at.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I want to be stung by the stars

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [winchesterfamilyvalues](http://winchesterfamilyvalues.tumblr.com/) in the marvel rarepair exchange!
> 
> Absolutely critical to have seen Thor 2 to understand what's going on here. 
> 
> Mil besos to my A & C!

I know you. _No, you don't._

*  
His right arm aches from the sharp break the Captain had given him, and his left arm is in need of attention.

The soldier finds the safe house that only he and Mr. Pierce, and Mr. Pierce's daughter, had known about. It seems obscure enough, and it was stocked with medical supplies and food.

He heals, he rests. He considers what to do.

There are things he wants, which is a new feeling ( _to want_ ).

*  
At the Smithsonian exhibit, the soldier reads every placard, watches every video, takes note of every detail of the curated items. He surreptitiously watches the faces of the attendees: fawning looks and smiles and eyes bright with hope, all ages and genders. The people are so pleased with their hero, especially now that he's saved their lives again.

The display for James Buchanan Barnes is frequented by many, and faces turn from excited to wistful; sad for the lost hero.

Breathing in deep, the soldier tries on the name, even whispers it aloud with his rusty voice. "Bucky," he says. A little girl next to him looks up and says, solemn, "His friend."

*  
In the bathroom mirror, he stares at his face and tries to smile like Captain's friend smiles in the video. His lips curve up, but it's not right. Something is not right.

*  
He researches the Captain, and learns more about his colorful friends, and the Widow. There are videos on the internet, from news media and bystanders with iPhones.

Stuttgart in particular fascinates him. The Captain challenges a god, and with the help of his friends, is triumphant. There are many videos from many different angles and he watches them all.

*  
There are words echoing in his ear ( _you crave subjugation_ ) and he can't sleep.

It was not allowed, and yet he remembers some missions where he had the time and privacy to take his dick in hand and quiet his brain just once. There is so much he has lost over time, but something about this is familiar and comforting.

There's no one watching him now, no guard at the door, no watchful tech. He can take his time.

His arm, made of bone and flesh, is still tender, so he's gentle with himself. Images fill his mind, and voices; but nothing too clear. A man with a handsome face and blond hair and a wide grin and he whispers: _you shaped the century, buck, and I need you to do it one more time--_ the voice shifts: _you were made to be **ruled**_ \--

The Winter Soldier is free to cry out, no one on earth can hear him, but he muffles the sound anyway. With his face buried in a pillow, he feels wet and wrung out by the end.

Feeling good for one long moment is worth it.

He can't sleep, so he cleans up; changes the sheets; drinks a glass of water; starts his workout. Doesn't notice the brief flash of emerald in the shadows of the room.

*  
There's a memorial in Manhattan to the Battle of New York and he visits it, reading the material voraciously.

He knows all the Avengers by name now; he knows their location and interests, their skills and types. At least from his research, and from some minor surveillance (some of them live in the tower).

They are good friends to the Captain, he thinks, and wishes he could watch more videos of them interacting. Thor, in particular, seems kind to him.

The Captain needs kindness, he thinks, though he doesn't know why.

*  
At some point between walking across the Brooklyn Bridge and thinking some skinny man in a terrible suit nearby is his friend, the soldier comes to a decision.

When a waitress takes his order and asks his name, he says, "Bucky. It's Bucky, ma'am."

*  
The thing about obsession is that it can make a person careless.

"He's looking for you, you know."

It's been a long time since the Winter Soldier's been surprised; and Bucky surprises himself by not immediately putting a bullet in Tony Stark's head.

Stark looks like his father, looks like his mother (Bucky would know), but his smile is all teeth.

*  
He agrees to go to the lab for Stark to fix his arm (his right arm is long healed; but steel and circuits don't have his healing capabilities). He doesn't agree to Stark calling Steve.

"Eh, he and his boyfriend are having a great time in the Motherland right now killing Hydra agents and shit, so, whatever." Stark's tone is flippant, but Bucky feels his eyes searching. The information is filed away, and Bucky keeps his face blank.

Stark doesn't ask for consent when he takes Bucky's blood, nor when he orders JARVIS about lunch for two. He doesn't ask when he detaches the metal arm and then shoos him away. "Go wash, bathroom to the left."

_You crave subjugation_ , Bucky thinks, and follows orders. It's what he's good at.

*  
"New clothes, new arm, new man," Stark says, admiring. "May I call Steve now?"

Bucky can read people well enough. Stark looks like a man who's already called Steve. Bucky doesn't quite remember everything, but he knows there's a hero doing everything he can to get on the first plane back to New York.

Panic, with all of its insidious effects, sharpens inside him.

"Not yet," he says. "How did you defeat Loki in the Battle of New York?" he asks, feeling awkward as he says it. He's well read on the subject; he just.

He doesn't want to see Steve.

(Bucky had no idea about the Hulk taking Loki to task. Stark laughs hot and full from the belly; and Bucky isn't quite sure how to react.)

*  
The roof of Avenger Tower is empty and Bucky sits in one of the tacky sunning chairs Stark's put up there. The stars at night are faint in the big city, but he knows them well. Steve and he used to lay on beach together and stare at the night sky and talk big about the future.

_Steve will be here soon_ , he thinks. _And I will have to be the great lost hero._

_And I will have to be Steve's great friend. Whoever that is_ , he thinks.

He wishes for an escape plan, and he wonders which stars above him are of Asgard.

*  
A dream takes him; a serpent, enormous and heavy, slides along his skin and it hisses in his ear: "Is not this simpler?" The green scales muzzle his mouth and he is unable to respond, unable to comply. So he closes his eyes instead, hums softly in his throat. _Is this not your natural state_ , he thinks, feeling the grip of the serpent tighten.

He wakes as light and fire and sound hit him all at once, and he is claimed by the stars; the Bifröst open for one of Midgard's sons.

*  
Shock and terror are old friends, and he swallows roughly as he stumbles onto the golden floor.

The gatekeeper welcomes him with a sword at his neck, peering down at him from above. "I have brought you here to serve the king at his command. But I know your ways, soldier. Improve."

Bucky opens his mouth to speak and thinks the better of it.

*  
Odin, the Allfather, King of the Nine Realms, God to Many, Lord of All, sits on his throne and does not smile.

"The soldier," he says. "The man out of time."

The words linger in the air, sliding strangely against Bucky's uneven memory. There is ceremony to be had here, and Bucky's training is specific (stand at attention, speak when spoken to, disarm yourself and put all weapons on the table before being debriefed, calm your storm). Still, he remembers the word: _kneel_.

He takes a knee, but does not avert his eyes.

There is an agelessness to the Allfather; his face is cragged but he is not like old men of earth. Bucky does not doubt that this man, this alien, could take him in a fight. The thought makes him straighten his shoulders and raise his chin. There is a confidence here to mirror, and to respect.

Odin speaks again: "I have work for you."

Near the throne, there is armor for him to put on; perfectly fitted and finely crafted. It's comforting, Bucky thinks, to be treated again as an owned weapon, not a man.

*  
The soldier does what he's best at, and Asgard is pleased to welcome any warrior who strikes down their enemies.

"Mission report," Odin says after each time Bucky returns.

The ease of it is alluring, calming; and he has the pleasure of knowing that he kills for a good king now, and that Steve cannot reach him here.

*  
He's free to chase pleasure as he chooses in Asgard; and with his handsome face and strange reputation, he has no shortage of offers. It's confusing, it's flattering, and he thinks of a young man many years ago who would have been delighted, shocked, agreeable.

But, no, he says, no, thank you. He likes his works. Likes to focus.

And, after all, he can take care of his own pleasure whenever he wishes it now. No need to complicate things. (His fantasies are complicated enough.)

*  
There are missions that require the utmost discretion, hidden bases to destroy, Chitauri generals to kill, and intel to gather on specific female assassins that work for some dark warlord.

Bucky is never quite certain of the why, only that each mission is given to him by Odin himself.

*  
The Asgardian library is mostly unintelligible to him, but he absorbs what he can. He reads their account of the Avengers, of New York, of Loki. Scribes have written down Thor's glowing remarks about Steven Grant Rogers, the Captain of America, and Bucky finds himself smiling at the words.

The page shifts, and he sees new letters forming: "Do you really wish to play the hero, Bucky? How trite. You are more than that."

Bucky blinks his eyes and the words are gone.

*  
It is in Niflheim that Bucky meets his match in battle.

A wicked smile on his lips, Loki, the trickster, the silver tongued, the Frost Giant who died, is a shade of the hell world, but not without teeth.

He might have died with honor in the end, but Bucky remembers what happened to New York, remembers Stuttgart. He attacks wordlessly, and Loki allows it with an amused grin.

The fight lasts long enough to get Bucky's pulse up. He considers that, for a shade, Loki may best him and drag him down into the murky ether. It could all end here in this moment, and would he comply? Would he allow it?

Arms grip him from behind, and there is mouth at his ear. "Is not this simpler?"

Bucky does not struggle, he leans his head back, resting it against the shade, and his vision goes dark.

There are things Bucky knows; there are things he remembers. When he wakes up in his bed in Asgard, unbruised and not at all sore, he decides it was just a dream.

He does not speak of it to Odin; does not wish to bring Odin pain.

(There was a horrible mission report he once gave to Mr. Pierce; and it was then he learned how much fathers love their children.)

*  
Bucky wakes in a cold sweat and fires his weapon in the corner of the room. A shadow scatters into nothing, leaving nothing behind in its wake.

He trains extra hard the next day, and the Lady Sif compliments him on his technique. Great praise requires gratitude, and he bows low in the Asgardian fashion (he learns fast). She smiles.

"Join us in battle, my fighting friend," she says.

He shakes his head. He works alone; for Odin alone.

In his chambers, that night, he finds new weapons; gifts of Odin and beautifully crafted. He feels a blush rise in his cheek as he touches them; they were made for his grip, weighted for his strength, and specific to his technique. He will kill for Odin as he has killed for Mr. Pierce, as he killed for Steve, as he killed for the United States. It's what he's good at.

*  
In the treasure room, he holds his tongue and does not ask about the strange and beautiful things within. Odin strolls casually through it, admiring and occasionally touching the trinkets and caskets.

"Do you miss the ice?" the king asks.

Bucky is not sure how to respond. He aches a little for it, missing oblivion.

Odin's smile reaches his eye. "I thought so."

That night, his room is at least ten degrees colder. He takes off all of his clothes and lies naked on top of the bed, shivering. It's marvelous. He sleeps like the dead.

*  
The gatekeeper, Heimdall, greets him with a nod. "Your friend searches for you, do you wish to return?"

Bucky considers this, attempts a smile, and shakes his head. Here he has purpose; here he is building an identity; it's so much simpler here.

*  
He keeps an eye on the Nova Corps dealing with the Kree, with Ronan and the warlord's assassins. It appears to openly be a mess and not threaten the realms, but Odin orders him to report back.

"Thanos knows every realm, every barren moon, every crevice of this galaxy. I would like to keep my borders safe."

It's not for Bucky to ask questions.

*  
"Someone once made me do terrible things."

He's in the library again, and Loki Laufeyson is leaning against the wall, looking at him. "I mean, I wanted to do them," Loki continues, "but I understand you. I know you."

Bucky breathes in the air and considers all the possible ways he could incapacitate the Frost Giant. He decides on throwing a knife.

It slices through the air, and it cuts the simulacrum in half. Before the image disappears, Bucky sees Loki's sad smile, hears the words: "Precious fool."

When he looks for Odin to tell him, the guards inform him that the Allfather is offworld.

*  
Loki straddles him on his bed, wearing Midgardian clothes (to be exact: what Stark gave Bucky to wear months ago). Bucky flinches and does not quite know how to react. There is a knife under his pillow, a gun at his side, a grenade on the bedside table. He could use his hands, strangle that long white neck.

"Do you miss him?" Loki says. "Your great friend, larger than life, and the people's hero? Do you miss being in his shadow?"

Bucky reaches for his knife but finds his hands frozen, locked in a spell.

"You can be more than a shadow, James Buchanan Barnes." Loki 's words leave his mouth like smoke.

His mouth opens again: "You can be more than my soldier." The voice is not Loki's, and Loki's smile reaches both of his eyes.

*  
Sex is a strange business, and Bucky is rusty at it; it's been a long time. He understands pleasure as the opposite of pain, as something to look forward to and work towards, as something that can be given, as something that can be taken.

There's a sense memory that returns when he takes Loki in his mouth; he used to – he used to do this, and do it well. Loki gasps as if being torn apart, and he grips Bucky's long hair tight but does little else. Bucky smiles against Loki's skin and accepts the praise, and the helplessness.

When it's done, when Loki's finished, there's a cool hand griping his dick and Loki's mouth sucking tight on Bucky's lip. Like everything he does, Loki is intense and precise.

"You don't—" Bucky tries.

"Oh, you rare and unearthly thing."

Kissing a god, a Frost Giant, a lost soul, something twisted and beautiful. It's overwhelming, the heat and the melancholy. There is a confidence here to mirror, and to respect.   
  
Loki's skin is so cold, and Bucky leans into it, surrounds himself with it, anchors himself in the sensation. Breathing hard, he remembers, remembers suddenly, utterly, that Steve's skin is hot to the touch and always has been.  
  
"Think of me when you come," Loki says, watching him.   
  
Bucky keeps his eyes open, and tries to comply.   
  
*  
When the Bifröst opens, Odin greets Midgard's mightiest heroes with honor. He sits on his throne, as he always has done, as he always will, and his soldier kneels at his feet.   
  
Steve's face is set, his jaw tight and hands in fists, but he bows as low as Thor.   
  
Bucky stares openly, evenly, and with more strength than he knew he ever had.


End file.
